Wouldn't it be nice?
by Flashing The Floods
Summary: No. Not in a million years. Castiel. Nathaniel. Slash slash slash.


**Author's Note: Just another crap to add to all the other craps, plotless and purposeless and a waste of time all around. Disjointed and bland, too. ****On an irrelevant note, I live with seven other people. Seven. You figure it would not always be left up to me and me alone to replenish the bathroom with toilet paper. You figure there would at least be one other person in this house who does so. Or better yet, people would just take responsibility and replace the toilet paper as soon as the roll is gone. You know it doesn't just disappear by itself ._.'**

**Rating is for pervyness! Beware of pervyness!**

* * *

With a last nip at Castiel's jaw, Nathaniel released his shoulders and clambered off his lap, slumping down on the couch cushions.

As the haze lifted from his head and the thrumming in his veins settled, Castiel shifted forward a bit and craned his neck over his shoulder. Visibility was mostly naught, but he could make out the beginnings of virulent scratches, and he wasn't exactly numb to the stinging. If the ones on his chest were anything to go by, he could guess the ones on his back were still weeping too.

He snorted irritably and glowered at Nathaniel. "Is fucking like a cat just how you do it, or are you trying to make me bleed to death?"

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed slightly and he bent down to grab the throw blanket, snatching it off the floor and pulling it up his chin. "I wouldn't have to dig in so hard if we had more room. Why don't we ever do this in your bed?"

Castiel gagged, nothing short of appalled. "That's where I sleep! I don't want you contaminating it!"

Nathaniel scowled, but for once didn't bite back. He must've just been too tired.

Later, when the blonde was long gone and Castiel discovered his pack of cigarettes in the toilet, he cursed himself for underestimating him.

.

.

.

"For you, darling," Castiel cooed with mock sentiment, thrusting the bouquet into Nathaniel's unwilling grasp.

Nathaniel sputtered incoherently and reeled back. He ungraciously tossed it to the ground, but pollen was already invading his vulnerable nostrils. A paroxysm of sneezing had him losing mucus in relentless high-pressure geysers, eyes reddening and running salty rivers. The world blurring and his sinuses clogging, Nathaniel could hardly even breathe. He managed through his mouth in choppy, hiccupy intakes that sounded nearly as humiliating as the fit of sneezing itself was.

Castiel could hardly breath either. He'd jigged back a nice and safe two meters away and was laughing so hard he couldn't see straight. His laughed so hard it hurt, sides in jovial stitches.

However, that pain was nominal compared to the sharp jab in the rib by a struggling Nathaniel's elbow.

He drew a hiss between his teeth and cringed, clutching at the offended area. "Asshole! That's the one I broke last month!"

"Is it now?" Nathaniel mused in ill humor, glaring pure murder as he was reduced to using his own sleeve as a tissue.

A previously dull ache revitalized with a force. Castiel bore it with a grimace and flipped Nathaniel off. "You did that on purpose, you bastard."

"That wouldn't make me the only—" Nathaniel was interrupted by another formidable bout of sneezing.

.

.

.

"Lysander's gone for the week visiting his parents."

"I'm aware," Nathaniel said evenly, eyeing Castiel over the rim of his clipboard. "Unlike _some people_ I know, he's actually considerate and responsible enough to inform the office when he's going to be absent."

"Rosalya and I are taking turns watching the apartment," Castiel continued on, ignoring Nathaniel's pointed insult with a wicked glint in his eyes.

"Fascinating," Nathaniel drawled sarcastically, partially feigning the disinterest much to his own chagrin.

"Tonight's my night."

"What's the point?"

"Really nice carpet."

And by evening they were grinding rug burns into each other's flesh to add to the scattered maps of bite marks and bruises. Nathaniel seized Castiel's hips with feral, eager fingers, nails sinking in as he worked on chewing a hole into the nape of his neck.

.

.

.

They weren't on a date. They didn't do that. Dates were for people who actually liked each other. They just happened to crash a wedding reception together. Nathaniel didn't want to, exactly. Wedding receptions were personal celebrations for family and friends, festivities to well-wish a long and blissful unity. He respected that.

But Castiel didn't, so he got dragged off anyway and halfway through the buffet there was no point in leaving. It was a large celebration even by typical standards, throngs of people at every turn and glittering confetti dusting every square of the floor. It was so big in fact, that their intrusion almost wasn't noticed.

Almost.

"You're not supposed to be here," playfully tsked a girl in a satin silver dress, pale blonde hair pinned back behind her head in a bun like a seashell and heather pools scolding him.

Nathaniel isn't the most graceful of creatures when caught in the act of a criminal. He sputtered, face growing hot with embarrassment as his brain rapidly debated between searching for a suave explanation or a profound apology.

She chuckled and put her hand on his shoulder. "Just because you're cute, I won't blow the whistle. Care to dance?"

"An honor," Nathaniel recovered himself with enough dignity to suffice and kissed her hand, leading her off to the floor. It was nice, she was a pleasant girl and a smooth dancer. But it was only so long before they were interrupted by a derisible redhead. He stole Nathaniel from her with his devilish wiles and Nathaniel let himself be stolen, as he could be counted on to do.

They both went home with broken toes.

.

.

.

Castiel purposely ate the brownie before kissing Nathaniel.

Nathaniel hissed and shoved him back, the thick, cloying taste of fudge and chocolate lingering in his mouth. Sickly sweet and so piquant he might as well have eaten it himself. Disgusting. Nathaniel swills his saliva in his mouth, trying to get rid of it to no avail. If he were as crude as the snickering creature who enjoys poisoning him with traces of sugar, he would spit it out right on the floor.

"No more kissing," Nathaniel warned, vexed and petulant.

"I'd rather bite anyway," Castiel remarked smugly, pushing Nathaniel back against the wall and making fast work of opening his shirt. He sank his teeth into the jut of his collarbone, hard enough to draw blood.

Nathaniel tipped his head back, knotting his fingers in Castiel's tresses and tugging harder until he got a distracted grunt that let him know it was hard enough to hurt.

Castiel snaked a hand down his pants and jerked an embarrassing squawk of a sound out of him in comeuppance.

.

.

.

Nathaniel wasn't that surprised when Marcese told Debrah to go on ahead of her, that she'd catch up, and turned around and regrouped with him. He wasn't surprised, but he dreaded this all the same.

"I know it's not any of my business, but those bruises on your back..."

"You saw them when you were looking for Debrah's underwear," he reminded her pointedly. If she was going to prod into his personal business, then Nathaniel was going to do the same.

"Yeah, but that doesn't have to do with anything," she insisted. "I'm just worried about you, I don't see why you can't just give me an explanation."

He got them being thrust and spread against the tile wall in Castiel's shower and there's no way in hell he's going to tell anyone about that. Never ever ever.

"It's nothing you should be worried about," he told her honestly, skin irresistibly growing hotter as the memory of said occasion refused to fade away.

Bastard. He was definitely going to get him back for that.

.

.

.

They were casually walking to nowhere together, spitting insults they never ran out of, soles scuffing on the sidewalk. Nathaniel walked a few paces behind Castiel, as the redhead was smoking again and Nathaniel didn't really care for the aroma.

He watched the way leather crinkled with his movements and considered pushing him into oncoming traffic. A hole in the pavement presented itself and he pushed him forward instead.

"The fu— Fuck!" Castiel tripped in it, kissed the concrete face-first.

"I stumbled," Nathaniel offered drily.

Castiel started to get up, gasped sharply when he took his own weight and faltered again, wincing. Nathaniel chuckled instead of offering his hand and Castiel wouldn't have accepted it anyway.

The second time he managed it and promptly punched Nathaniel hard enough to make his ears ring.

.

.

.

They go to that kind of school where the teachers take them out into the swamp and tell them to catch frogs. Said frogs will be dissected in the lab, but after what happened with the rabbits, the teachers don't include this little detail.

Either way, Castiel didn't manage to catch anything but a cold. Not that he really tried.

Insufferable germ left him a congested, nasally dripping, sore-throated, hacking mouth-breather. Nathaniel kept the hell away from him, wouldn't touch him with a flagpole, and carried around hand sanitizer on the off chance Castiel would catch him unaware and breach the distance.

But Castiel found a chink in his defense, Nathaniel's water bottle. He gleefully backwashed in it and screwed the cap back on.

Two days later Nathaniel was scarlet-nosed and seething. "I despise you."

Castiel popped a honey cough drop and relished in victory. "You're adorable."

.

.

.

Nathaniel threw Castiel against the refrigerator hard enough to send the magnets clattering to the floor with forgotten scraps of paper. He grabbed a taut fistful of his hair and yanked as he kissed with a guarantee to bruise, and Castiel's hands found the curve of his ass and applied the same force, one gruff noise squeezed out from under Nathaniel's ravenous mouth.

At some point a magnet broke.

.

.

.

Things weren't always like that though. They had softer moments, albeit rarely.

"I'm tired," Nathaniel admitted one night, features drawn and hair fallen out of place, eyelids drooping.

"You wanna lay down?" Castiel lazily gestured to the couch.

Nathaniel stared at him for a moment without saying anything and then plodded over, seating himself on a cushion. Castiel followed and flopped down onto his back. Nathaniel slowly laid down on top of him and pulled up the blanket.

The television droned on in the background and Demon occupied the living room floor, gnawing quietly on his rawhide bone. Tendrils of dying sunbeams peeked in from the crevices between the blinds and dusted the carpet in goldenrod. Pleasant, mild.

Easy to relax in and after awhile, fall asleep in, really.

Just when the fuzziness of dreaming started to claim Nathaniel's drifting mind, Castiel shoved him off and he hit the floor with a thud, startling Demon and abruptly yanked back into wakefulness. He gritted his teeth and fired a glare of daggers.

"I didn't say you could spend the night," snapped Castiel, glaring back.

The softer moments didn't last.


End file.
